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Lady Miranda rolled her eyes once again, and with much laughter they spent the afternoon on a stroll, discussing the wildly romantic triumph and pitfalls of Sense and Sensibility.
Chapter 5
Miranda shared a secret smile with Simon across the large breakfast table. Breakfast consisted of tea, a pot of chocolate, toasted bread, strawberry preserves, raisin pastries, coddled eggs, thin slices of ham, and a carrot cake, yet she was not tempted to indulge. There was a hovering sense of something unexpected about to happen in her heart, and it had her stomach in knots.
For the last four days and nights, they had fallen into a routine of taking long walks where they discussed various books and plays, ranging from Shakespeare, Byron, Jane Austen, and even Plato and Socrates. They also discussed Dr. Astor’s work, and the fundraising events he hosted from time to time, in the hope of raising funding for a hospital in the area that would serve the people of this village, and of those villages nearby. His selfless giving and passion for helping others filled her heart with remarkable admiration and warmth, and she found that she wanted to assist him in organizing raising the money required to found and run the hospital.
And then last night when they had unintentionally met in the library, both unable to sleep, and struck with the similar thought of reading a book. He had read A Midsummer Night’s Kiss, and she’d curled into a comfortable sofa by the fire and had been lulled by the rich, deep, cadence of his voice. A flutter of warm sensations erupted in her stomach, and her heartbeat quickened uncomfortably at the mere memory of how contented she’d felt.
It saddened her to realize she would depart his home soon, as her mother was eager to leave for their country home in Lincolnshire where they would retire until next season.
“Dr. Astor, Miranda mentioned in passing that you have siblings. Do they not live here with you?” her mother asked, not content to eat in silence.
Henry crunched his toast noisily, quite uncharacteristic of him, for propriety was just as important to him as it was to Mamma. Miranda suspected he was intolerably bored and anything was a diversion. She had caught him yesterday flirting with the young housekeeper, who had been blushing like a silly, fresh faced debutante.
Simon slowly spread the strawberry preserve over his cake. “My sister is married and living within her own household. My older brothers have both been away from England for the last five years. William is in India and Edward in New York. And my mother has not left Hampshire since our father went onto his reward seven years ago.”
“You are comfortably situated for a third son,” the countess said with considerable inquisitiveness. “Should I know of your family, Dr. Astor?”
Before he could reply, the door to the breakfast parlor opened and Mrs. Denniston, suitably attired in a blue frock, strolled inside. "I was checking in on my Tommy, or I would have been down when the bell rang," she said with a tentative smile.
The countess had been taking trays in her room and previously had no occasion to dine with everyone these last few nights. Miranda hadn’t thought it any of her mother’s concern to mention the lady was still in residence, and her mother had not enquired after the boy.
“Is she to dine with us?” she demanded in evident outrage.
Exasperated, Miranda set down her teacup with an uncharacteristic thud. “Mamma!”
“Dr. Astor, I expect a man of your standing to—”
“You will have no expectations of me
or anyone I’ve invited to my home and table, Lady Langford. I do, however, expect all my guests to be treated with cordiality and for each person in my home to be mindful of their tongue and manners.”
Mrs. Denniston had frozen, but now her shoulders relaxed, and she bobbed a quick thanks to Simon before taking a seat, which he stood and held out for her. Henry choked on his tea, his eyes widening, never once having heard anyone reprimanding Mamma. The countess’s lips pinched, and a flush worked itself along her elegant cheekbones. Then she visibly composed herself.
The echo of running footsteps sounded, and the breakfast parlor doors were once more flung open. Mrs. Clayton rushed inside; her face flushed from exertion. “Dr. Astor, a cart with a young lady just pulled inside the forecourt.” She glanced at everyone, before saying, “There is blood, Sir! I fear there might have been a horrible accident.”
He pushed back his chair and surged to his feet. “If you will all excuse me.”
Mrs. Denniston had also stood. “Might I be of assistance?”
He nodded. “Thank you. Most of the staff are out for their off day, and I’ve been known to rely on a helping hand from a maid or two.”
They hurried from the room, and Simon broke into a run.
Her stomach twisted in tight, painful knots. "It must be serious," Miranda said. "Did you hear that, Mamma? She arrived on a cart, and there was blood."
“Young lady, you will sit and resume our breakfast.”
It was then she realized she had pushed out her chair. “Mamma!” Miranda cried, aghast. Her frantic gaze volleyed to Henry. “Surely they could use as much help as possible. Mrs. Clayton said the accident was horrible and Dr. Astor might be overwhelmed.”
Her mother wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I am certain there was no one of consequences on that coach, my dear, there is no need to be anxious and to risk your reputation and safety by even thinking of helping! I am sure the good doctor will have sufficient help in his servants.”
“Well said, Mamma,” Henry said, then with shocking unconcern he snapped the pressed newssheet open and started to read.
Her mother could be intolerably blunt and unfeeling to those she deemed lower, but this was beyond the pale. Unable to bear their indifference, she pushed from the table and hurried away, disregarding the cries of her mother. She made her way to the drawing room door and gently opened it up. The slight metallic tang of blood reached Miranda instantly. She hesitated on the threshold, before firming her shoulders and stepping inside, and closing the door behind her. A lady reposed on one of the beds sobbing, the sound raw and pain-filled. It propelled Miranda forward, and she halted when she saw the high mound pushing up on her gown.
The lady was with child.
